Curiosity Never Killed the Same Cat Twice
by LordOfAllBricks
Summary: Maybe my loneliness was why I took so kindly to the two kids who seemed to know I was a real witch. They interested me; I had never heard of a scythe animagus before.
**Curiosity Never Killed the Same Cat Twice**

 **Disclaimer: I disclaim**

* * *

My life wasn't always too fun. My parents were unhappy people; ever since I was a child, all I could remember of them was my father yelling at my mother, and her frequent midnight escapades, from which she would return at three in the morning with rumpled clothes and the stench of alcohol, prompting another explosive argument that never failed to wake me in time for school. When I was eleven, I got a letter in the mail from a magic school telling me I was a witch. I was so shocked, but my parents' reactions were worse. Father seemed absolutely disgusted, while mother turned sickeningly sweet. For the first time in my life she tucked me in, whispering about how I was to make her proud and prove to the wizarding world that having two squibs as parents was not harmful to my magical education.

I didn't understand what she meant by that.

Fast forward a few years, and there I am at Hogwarts. Oh, the teachers were so nice! Finally I understood the concept of kindness, and was able to quench my hidden starvation for people who accepted me for who I was. I was almost afraid to return home again each summer. My mother was convinced I was the most talented witch ever to attend Hogwarts and insisted I demonstrate my prowess, while father's attitude about my magic was anything but encouraging. He'd downright sneer whenever I was forced to remind mother that I wasn't allowed to use magic in front of muggles, and since she and father were both squibs, the ministry forbade it.

I always hated being called a disappointment, but not as much as the bruises I learned to conceal with various spells at the beginning of each school year.

The subjects were hard. Divination was scary, Care of Magical Creatures left me jittery, History of Magic was just plain boring, Potions was a death trap, Charms left my embarrassing lack of skills exposed, Herbology smelled overly green and made me feel nauseous, and Transfigurations...that was the one class I enjoyed. When I discovered my professor was an animagus, I begged her to teach me how to transform. I figured, changing into an animal wouldn't go against the ministry, and mother was becoming increasingly insistent.

I just wanted the anger to stop.

Processor McGonagal was hesitant; she knew my grades. Even in her own class, they weren't high. I was barely passing at all. I was so determined, though, that she gave in. From then on, every weekend, I went to tutoring lessons on how to become an animagus. When it came time to choose an animal, I decided a cat would be a good form, as cats are not at all suspicious to muggles. The professor thought I was influenced by her own form. I didn't correct her.

I practiced for months, then for years. Each time I went home my mother hounded on me, demanding I show her what I can do. I could only promise her that once I mastered becoming an animagus, then I could show her and father my magic. She was impressed, and told me how proud of me they were.

I didn't see father at all the entire break.

Finally, in my sixth year, I was nearly really. I could properly transform, but there was one issue. I could never get my fur the right color. It was supposed to be grayish blue, like a Russian Blue, but every time, it always ended up with more of a purple tint. I asked the professor if it was okay and she said no, I needed to be able to transform into a genuine cat before I was considered a full animagus. I returned home for the break to tell my mother that, yes, I could transform. She cut me off before I could finish, demanding a demonstration. I was uneasy, but I transformed, allowing her to see my magic, as she asked every year. She took one look at my vibrant purple fur and yelled at me, screeching about how it was an improper form and how she was so disappointed in me. I fled to my room in tears. Father was in the hall, and as I passed him he only laughed drunkenly, draining one of those bottles he always carries around.

I ran away the next morning.

For a long time I wandered, homeless, taking the Knight Bus, staying at the Leaky Cauldron and a few nonwizarding hotels with what little money I had left. I had made a mockery of myself and the wizarding world to my parents, now twice scorned for their squib status and my own failures. It was only a matter of time before mother found out about my grades. I had to get away, far away. I had to escape. I had no money for airline tickets, but no one notices a cat in a carry-on bag if you're quiet enough. In this way I ran to America, a muggle filled void of magic. There were hardly any wizards living there at all. Once the plane landed I hitchhiked, living off my looks, glad that at least my parents' genes gave me such an attractive body. Out here in the middle of nowhere, it was the only way to get my next meal. At least I loved fish, so stealing some as a cat wouldn't raise too many eyebrows, never mind the purple fur.

No one really cared about little old me, and that was how I wanted it.

Eventually I settled in a small town near the desert, Herbology nightmares preventing me from going anywhere with vibrant greenery. If I never saw another Devil's Snare again...

It was Halloween when I arrived. I didn't realize how much time had passed until a group of kids wearing costumes passed me in my cat form. They pointed at me and made little cooing noises, so I let them pet me and feed me little bits of candy. I even started to purr, prompting one of them to laugh and put her witch hat on me. They all laughed when I didn't shake it off and only pawed for more food. I was sad to watch them go. The little girl forgot her hat, and I decided to keep it. It was too ironic not to.

The small town was a great place to live, I decided, and as I was now of age, I was free to use my magic however I wished; so, keeping with the stereotypical witch theme, I scattered a clearing in the forest with pumpkins and created a pumpkin shaped house. A little outlandish for Halloween, I'd admit, but it suited me just fine.

Still, after a few months, I was starting to realize how lonely I was. I missed my friends at school. I missed my professors. I even missed my parents, as horrible as they were. Father never really cared for my gift, while mother cared too much.

Maybe my loneliness was why I took so kindly to the two kids who seemed to know I was a real witch. They interested me; I had never heard of a scythe animagus before. They never were such a big threat. Even when the boy 'ate my soul', because now that I was part cat, he had only eaten one of my nine. I didn't even realize I had nine souls until I met Maka and Soul. Meeting them made me realize what my life had become—a mundane routine of hardly any magic and social interaction. It had driven me half batty. When those two kids started to leave, I simply _had_ to follow them. They weren't wizards, I knew that much, but there was something... _different_ about them, and curiosity never killed the same cat twice.

* * *

It's been over a year now since I started living with Soul and Maka. I've grown to love them, and their other friends, as my sort of surrogate family. They all believe I am a cat with human form, and I don't bother to correct that assumption. I've learned how these people feel about witches, and even though I'm of a different ilk, I'd rather not risk it. All it took was a bit of concealing magic around my wand to make it look like any magic I use comes directly from my own hands. It's been incredibly helpful.

Those months alone, and previous years of neglect, have left their mark on me. I hate being alone, almost can't stand it. I'm also pretty open about my own body. I've stopped caring for the most part. It's just me. The only conscious effort I make is to keep my cat ears when I transform into human. They help support the whole "Monster Cat" story. This time purple fur is a bonus.

However, sometimes when the kids are out on a mission, I can't help but miss my old life. There were very few positives, but the ones I do remember I am very fond of. Faces and names resurface, and instead of getting into mischief when by myself as Soul and Maka believe, I usually return to my true human form and laze around their house or take care of myself in ways that would have been suspicious had the kids been around. Who knew muggles could come up with artificial spells? Hair dye has been a lifesaver.

Today, however, I cannot bring myself to watch TV or practice the few spells I can remember from Charms. Instead, I sit at the open window as a feline, letting the wind lift the brim of my hat in a comforting breeze that seems to carry whispers of an unknown future. Under my paw lies a worn letter, which I cannot help but read obsessively whenever the apartment is empty. It was delivered a week ago by a stormy barn owl who hooted in annoyance when I refused to immediately write a reply. I see him at night sometimes, drifting past this very same window. Maka and Soul have noticed that I'm hiding in here, but they won't say anything. All I have to do is complain about the "big, scary owl living in the tree outside" and they believe me. Sort of.

The only problem is, Whither wont leave. He's waiting for me to make up my mind so he can deliver the return letter. But I'm so scared...

I don't know what to do.

* * *

 **Two very important things:**

 **• Yes, I know you can't choose your animagus, but the story sounds better like this, trust me guys.**

 **• On the HP wiki about animaguses it literally says that only two cat animagus are registered, McGonagal and, I quote, "an unknown witch" *cue eyebrow wiggles***


End file.
